


Sherlock's daughter - Arwen-Charlotte

by sherlylikeswaffles



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sherlock Has a Daughter, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlylikeswaffles/pseuds/sherlylikeswaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly have a 15 year old daughter. Together with her dad and Uncle John she begins to solve crimes.  I don't know yet how long this fic will be, but I have planned several chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My father- the consulting detective

"Do you have everything you need, honey?" my mum asks. "Of course!" I shout, annoyed because this isn’t by far the first time I spend a weekend with my dad.  
"I'll leave now!" I say and move towards the door.  
"Wait, honey, wait" So of course I wait.  
"Take this, you never know if your dad’s got any food at home."  
She says as she puts a sandwich and some biscuits into my bag, then she gives me a kiss on the cheek and I’m allowed to leave, finally.  
I’m not like all the kids having divorced parents who spend their weeks with mum and their weekends with dad. My parents aren’t divorced because they never have been married at all. But it also isn’t like they hate each other and because of that I have to travel on my own through big and frightening London. My parents still love each other, but they just couldn’t live together at the same place for long.  
And this is because of my dad’s work and personality. If you say my dad is a weird guy, you are very nice because he is extraordinary weird and crazy even. His job is being a consulting detective, he’s the only one in the world. Initially he used to be a private detective but he got bored with all the ordinary problems. So he invented his own job. Being a consulting detective means that whenever the police needs help with solving a crime they consult him. His name is Sherlock Holmes by the way. And I bet now your little brains start working and they remember him. Wasn’t he dead? Wasn’t he just a fake? Wasn’t even him being a fake a fake? I’ll explain this later because it’s quite complicated.  
So my name is Arwen- Charlotte Hooper. Not Holmes, no, because as a detective my dad has many enemies so it’s kept mostly a secret that I’m his daughter.  
But I can visit him and he can visit mum and me. My parents meet each other at least once a week but it depends on his job, if he has a case to solve or not.  
I’ve finally arrived at Baker Street Station. Of course no one is waiting for me because dad’s always busy even if this business means doing nothing. So I go to 221B Baker Street on my own. When I was younger I used to play a trick on my dad. I pressed the button of the door bell once with maximal pressure and dad thought it was a client who had a case for him. But now the trick isn’t funny any more.  
So I ring the door like everybody who visits him.  
Mrs Hudson, his landlady, opens. She is very old, over eighty years old. But she’s very healthy and good looking for her age. She is like a grandmother to me. She always takes care of people and cooks delicious food. Sometimes I suspect that if she hadn’t been there for my dad, he would have starved himself to death and he wouldn’t even have noticed.  
"Hello, my dear," She says and hugs me."You get taller every time I see you."  
"This shouldn’t surprise you, under normal circumstances a girl at the age of fifteen grows seven millimetres a month." I tell her.  
"You are exactly like your father," She says rolling her eyes.  
Many people don’t like being compared to their parents but I’m proud of them. They had an interesting and exciting life so far. It makes me even prouder to be compared to my dad. I want to be as clever as he is some day.  
"Arwen-Charlotte?" I hear my dad’s deep voice shout, "Come upstairs!"  
My dad is one of the few people who call me by my full name and not some stupid nickname or something like honey, darling, dear…Even through I have a double name, I like them both. My dad wanted to call me Arwen because it’s Welsh and he always has been fascinated by Wales. But my mum wanted to give me a more normal name. But because dad always gets what he wants, a compromise was the best solution for both of them. I'm just glad my dad doesn't call me with my double name and my second name. Because the true is, my second name after Arwen-Charlotte is Sherlock. Yes, Sherlock, like my dad. I got this name thanks to a joke Uncle John and he once had. Sherlock had to say goodbye to Uncle John and because he was sad and couldn't express how much he cared about Uncle John. He tried to cheer Uncle John up and said his full name: William Sherlock Scott Holmes. My family has a thing for long and complicated names. It was some kind of inside joke between them because Dad added: “Just if you are looking for baby names.” John laughed and told Dad that they were expecting a girl. This lead to the fatale sentence: “Sherlock is actually a girl's name”. But well, John didn't name his daughter after Sherlock. To be fair he went to so far and named his son Scott. And then, when I was born, John brought up that old joke again and reminded Sherlock that he could after all name his own kid after himself. Of course, my mum wouldn't let him, but after she heard the story behind it, she agreed that it could be my second name because it would just be on my papers.  
I go upstairs and I’m not surprised to see Uncle John sitting in an armchair and my dad holding his violin, even through he stopped playing it.  
Uncle John isn’t my real uncle, we are not related in any way. He is just the best friend of my dad. I have got a real uncle, too. My dad’s brother Mycroft. He is seven years older than dad and he has a proper wife and a son, who is 22 years old.  
Uncle John used to be my father’s flatmate but after my father’s fake death he married and moved out of 221B Baker Street. He lives now with his wife Mary and their daughter Victoria and their son Scott. Victoria is eighteen years old and really nice, but sometimes she is too much of a girl to me. My mum liked to dress me in nice little pink dresses when I was little but I ripped them all apart and made experiments with my dolls such as trying to kill them with a kitchen-knife. After that my mum screamed for half an hour and my dad bought me a box for doing chemical experiments.  
Scott is about my age and secretly Uncle John and dad want that he and I become a couple.  
"Hi, Charly!" says John smiling. I hate being called Charly, but John thinks it’s suits me. And I stopped correcting him.  
"Hello John. How are you?" I say because I’m supposed to say so.  
"I’m great. And you?"  
"Fine."  
Dad puts his violin back into its box and hugs me. Than he steps back and examines me closely. He always does when we meet. He does not ask how I am but he does deduce the answer and what I did during the time we haven’t seen each other.  
"You ate pasta for lunch I can see strains of the sauce, you’ve been in a hurry to get here, you dressed very nicely but you forgot to close your shoes properly. You recently got a kiss on your cheek. There’s a bit of lipstick left. It’s rosy roses lipstick like Molly uses. So of course it was your mother, saying goodbye. You’ve been outside yesterday during the rain. The coat is still wet. You have Bo’s hair on your trousers but also the hair of another cat. Maybe your friends? No, there are hairs on your socks, too, so it must be your cat. Molly bought another cat without telling me? No, she found the cat on the street and could leave her alone, so she took her home."  
"You are such a show-off, Sherlock!" complains John, but he’s smiling a little because he knows me dad like no one else does, " Even in front of your daughter."  
"I’m not showing of," replies Dad, "I teach her my methods. You can’t say that you don’t try sometimes secretly to work with my methods as well. It’s very complicated and you can never start soon enough learning."  
Everything Dad said about me has been correct, like always, even the thing about our new cat.  
Mum loves cats and so do I. We have a fat cat with brown and long fur. His name is Bo. And then two days ago mum found a little kitten, sitting abandoned on the pavement. She didn’t wear anything in her ear so she took her home. We gave her the name Lilly.  
Dad gets on well with cats but he doesn’t adore them as much as my mum does.  
Now that he told me how he found all these things out, it seems very simple. I try to remember every bit and use it for my further deduction practices. Indeed I’ve started learning the science of deduction when I was eight. My dad and I used to make trips trough London and he told me every thing he could deduce of a strange and I took notes and tried to do like him. But I mostly failed and worked out just some very obvious fact. But I have to admit I’m getting better and better with all the years of practice. Sometimes my dad is very proud because I can remember everything he said to me. But this is also a problem because I just can’t simply delete everything that’s not useful. And so it takes too much time to find important things in my mind.  
"What’s the name of your new cat?" asks John, trying to make normal conversation again.  
"Lilly,” I say.  
"And what does she look like?"  
"She has grew fur, with bits of white. And she is very thin because she was all alone and didn’t know how to feed herself."  
"So it was a piece of luck that Molly found her. Molly is good at keeping you alive, isn’t she, Sherlock?" John says.  
He looks meaningful towards Sherlock. Dad smiles and replies: “Indeed she is.”  
I know that they are both referring to my dad's fake death. Over 18 years ago my dad had to fake jump of a roof in order to save his friends from the evil mastermind James Moriarty. My mum helped him to make this all happen. But they couldn't tell John that Dad was still alive. Even before his fall, Mum always had a crush on Sherlock and so she had offered him to help him because she had known that he was in trouble. After she had helped him, they have gotten to know each other better. But because he didn't want to endanger her and he was needed else where, he began to travel around the world and solve crimes without telling anyone what his real name was.  
After all of Moriarty henchmen died or were locked up in prison, he went to John to tell him he was alive and soon afterwards he moved into 221B Baker Street again. Returning to Mrs Hudson but now without John. My dad has never really been good with emotions and love. But after he had found out that my mum was engaged, he realised that he had feelings for her, too. My mum too wasn't really over him, even after all these years, so she broke up with her fiancée and Mum and Dad started “dating”. Well, and then I happened.  
We all are lost in our thoughts for a while when the ringing of the door bell brings us back to reality. There was no doubt about it. It was a client. A smile spreads across my dad’s face. But the his eyes fall on me. The happy smile drops a little and he considers a moment what to do with me. Then he says:” It’s not very professional to have a teenager around here. Please go into the bedroom and, ” He drops his voice dramatically: “Listen closely.”


	2. My first case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen-Charlotte listens closely behind the door, when Mr Porter, Sherlock's client, asks the detective for help. But how can Arwen-Charlotte help her father?

I follow his instructions immediately. I’m so happy. This is the first time I’m present during a client visit. Soon I can see my dad doing his work in real life and not just to show off.  
I sit down on a stool in front of the door and press my eye to the keyhole. I hear heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Then a man’s back steps into my view. It is a wide back of a man who does a lot of sports but he isn’t only muscular but very well fed as well. He wears an expensive leather jacket and a scarf made of silver silk. I try to memorize the way he moves. So I will be able to recognise him even in the dark. I can’t guess his age but maybe his style of talking will give me some hints.  
"Good afternoon," the man says with a booming voice, "My name is Nathan Porter. You must be Mr Holmes and you’re Dr. Watson, right?"  
"Yes, correct”. I hear Dad reply, "Please sit down."  
Mr Porter is about to sit down on my dad’s favourite arm-chair when Sherlock insists quickly: “No, please take a seat on the couch.” Mr Porter follows the orders.  
Finally I see his front side. My dad turns around before he takes a seat himself. And I see a little smile on his face. It’s meant for me. He ordered his client to sit on the couch, in my vision, not just because he preferred to sit in his chair but he wants me to learn from this case.  
Sherlock and John sit down as well. My dad begins immediately to study his client closely. And so do I.  
Mr Nathan Porter has a very accurate cut moustache, black hair glued on his head. His eyes focus and refocus many times which indicates that he usually wears glasses. Under his leather jacket he wears a fine white dress-shirt which is wet because of the sweat. I can see a giant golden watch around his wrist. His hands are manicured which looks extremely odd because he is such a intimidating figure and you think he can do anything with his hands.  
He has three different rings. One is plain and gold. A wedding ring. His black shoes and trousers are dirty because the streets are still wet because of yesterday’s rain. He was in a hurry to get here. He sweats a lot. And his face shows a lot of stress. Surely this case will be very interesting.  
"You came here because of your wife, right?" asks Dad.  
"Yes, Sir. I’ve been told you see such things. Yes, I’m here because my wife Eleanor is missing."  
"And you miss your wife since three days, right?"  
"Yeah, you are right again, Mr Holmes. How do you know? There’s nothing in the papers about it, is there?"  
"No. But your appearance told me. You haven’t slept properly for the last three nights. I can see it in your face, your eyes. Today was the first time in days you shaved yourself. To make a good impression to me, I suppose."  
"Alright, alright. You are really as clever as I was told."  
"Who told you about me , by the way?" Dad interrupted.  
"An old friend of mine: Henry Knight. You remember his case?"  
"Sure, I remember all my cases. And Henry Knight’s case was one of the most spectacular ones I ever solved."  
I think you all remember The Case of the Hounds of Baskerville if you read John’s blog.  
"So please tell us now your story," said Dad.  
And so Mr Porter began: “Eleanor and I are married for seven years now. We have a five year old daughter, Harriet is her name. It would be a lie to say our marriage was good. It wasn’t. Eleanor is ten years younger than I am and I know she mainly married me because of my money. But she is very beautiful and her dad is rich and famous in my business, I own a construction company. Her dad told her to marry me or she wouldn’t get any money. So of course she took me and she has a good life. She doesn’t have to work and still she has lots of money to waste on expensive items. I really did love her. But it’s hard to love someone when you don’t get anything back. I also know she has a string of lovers and so I have affairs myself. We both know what the other is doing and we are fine with it. This one of the few things we agree with. Each of us can do what he or she wants but nothing can go to the journalists and to Harriet. Harriet is the only person Eleanor loves. She is a great mother even through I’m afraid Harriet is spoiled by her mum.  
Yes this is the first information about our marriage in general. Eleanor travels a lot and she often takes Harriet with her. So I wasn’t very surprised when I got home four days ago and found out that they were gone to Paris. And I wasn’t worried when I tried to call them and I got no answer.”  
"Sorry to interrupt, but if you don’t really care about your wife and if she’s just gone on a shopping tour to Paris, then why to do you bother me with this?"  
"Mr Holmes! This is serious. It’s not just about my wife, you’re right. I’m also missing the jewellery box of Eleanor."  
"Maybe she took it with her." Dad really is getting annoyed and I was a little disappointed, too.  
"No, that’s impossible. On that first evening of Eleanor and Harriet’s absence I checked the safe like every evening and the whole jewellery box was there and the three days ago it was gone. I asked all servants but no one took it and no one saw my wife since she left."  
"Tell me more about the jewellery."  
"It’s my wife’s. It has been in her family for many generations and it was the property of her dead mother. The box contains various expensive necklaces, bracelets and earrings made of jade, ruby, gold and pearls. It is worth five million pounds."  
"So if your wife wanted to take it with her she could have because it was hers?"  
"Of course. She has a key for the safe."  
"You didn’t hear a single word from her since she left?"  
"No, not a word. I tried a hundred times to call her. I never got an answer."  
"But you don’t think she would run away from you and her unhappy marriage with her daughter but without her jewellery."  
"That’s exactly what makes me confused. I don’t know what to think or do. Please, Mr Holmes, help me."  
"I will help you. Tomorrow I’ll visit your home and examine the crime scene, your safe personally. But it’s important that no one is at home during my visit except you, of course. Give your servants time off for the morning."  
Mr Porter looks confused but he nods in agreement.  
"You may go now and I’ll see what I can do for you."  
"Thank you, Mr Holmes. Thank you so much."  
Mr Porter stands up and is about to leave when Dad calls after him:  
"Just one more question: Do you know the names of your wife’s lovers?"  
"No, Sir. I don’t know."  
"Bad luck. Er…and do you think Eleanor could hurt your daughter in some way?"  
"No, never."  
"That’s all then. Good bye."  
"Good bye, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson."  
And then the first client I have ever seen live leaves and I hear his heavy footsteps disappear into the distance.  
"Arwen-Charlotte, come on in! We have a case to solve!" Dad shouts and I run into the living room. Ready for everything.  
"Oh, Dad that had been so exciting! The first client ever!"  
"Yes, I know. When the story with Carl Powers happened I was even younger than you are now. So what do you think about this case?"  
"I …I don’t know yet," I reply shyly and I really don’t know what to say because this is all so new to me. "I think the most important fact is that the jewels were stolen but the wife obviously didn’t take them." I say at last.  
"Very clever, indeed. You really did find the important detail which leads to the solution that there may have happened two crimes at once." Dad says.  
"What? Two crimes?" shouts John, "How?"  
"We don’t have any proofs yet of course, but I think something really bad happened to Mrs Porter or little Harriet or to both of them."  
"And what are we going to do now, Dad?" I ask.  
"We? Well, I’m going to look Mr and Mrs Porter up on the Internet to get more information. And John needs to go home because Mary might be worrying about him. And tomorrow we all go to the Porters’ house."  
"And what about me?" I ask again.  
"Well, I don’t know how you really can help me. I think you just can watch and watch me working with my methods."  
"But I want to help you! I need to do something!" I scream because I finally am about to get something I’ve always wanted.  
Sherlock keeps quiet for a while and then he says: “You really can do some thing. You are a child and children like to talk with other children. Go to the Porters’ house. It’s quiet early. There might be some kids on the streets. Go and ask them what they think about Harriet and her family.”  
I immediately know that this is a strategy to get me busy without actually making me do something important. But I’m determined to prove Dad wrong. To not just full fill my task but to get the information we need.  
"Yeah, okay. I go immediately." I say and take my bag.  
"Do you really think that’s a good idea? Letting her near the crime scene? Remember Sherlock, she is just a child, she is your child!"  
Oh, no! Please Uncle John, shut up, I think because I can see Dad rethinking his decision.


End file.
